


Hazy Identity

by TT_Angst_Queen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Battle of Azzano (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 01:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TT_Angst_Queen/pseuds/TT_Angst_Queen
Summary: The blond stranger sucked in a breath behind Bucky's right hand, eyes widening and body freezing at the feeling of Bucky's left hand holding his combat knife to his throat."Who the hell are you?"





	Hazy Identity

**Author's Note:**

> For my lovely friend, Rumi, I hope you enjoy!

 

 

* * *

 

 

It didn't really sink in at first; his mind still fogged and vision still slightly fuzzy from the drugs that Zola had forced through his veins. He wasn't tracking very well and his relief at being freed from that table and that lab with its chair that shocked his brain and made his mind even fuzzier-

 

So, it really hadn't sunk in, hadn't really registered with Bucky, hadn't really hit him, that the man that had rescued him and his men from Azzano wasn't the same man he had left that morning months ago at the train station, blond hair glinting in the sunlight and blue eyes sad.

 

When Bucky had finally recovered from the haze of drugs and the rush of adrenalin, it was dark, and the Blond man that had saved their hides had been settling down in the dirt a fair distance from the sleeping men, right beside Bucky.

 

Feigning sleep, Bucky listened for any sounds that would alert him to any of his men waking before striking.

 

The blond stranger sucked in a breath behind Bucky's right hand, eyes widening and body freezing at the feeling of Bucky's left hand holding his combat knife to his throat.

 

"Who the hell are you?"

 

The blond mans face screwed up at his words, and Bucky refused to think of how the face of the man looked so much like his Stevie; Steven Grant Rogers was 95 pounds, 99 soaking wet, was 5'3, and wouldn't be able to do anything this man had done to save them.

 

This man that claimed to be Steve Rogers couldn't be him, because no amount of training at the Army would make you gain a foot of height and about a hundred and fifty pounds in muscle, not to mention cure asthma, scoliosis, partial hearing loss…

 

No, this man couldn’t be who he claimed to be, as much as it broke Bucky’s heart. The fact that he was pretending to be Steve, though, made him spitting mad.

 

Narrowing his eyes at the blond, Bucky repeated his question, adding the slightest bit of pressure to the knife, a little drop of blood welling up at his captives neck.

 

“Bu-Bucky, it’s me-” the man chocked when Bucky tightened the knife again.

 

“Bullshit,” Bucky hissed, his anger spiking; How dare this imposter try to lie to him again. “Steve Rogers is 99 pounds soakin’ wet and wouldn’t gain muscle if Frankenstein sewed it on to him-”

 

“Hey!” the guy had the audacity to look offended at Bucky’s words.

 

“-so, don’t you keep tellin me you’re him when it would be as obvious as the nose on your damn face that you ain’t him,”

 

“I am, I swear to God, Bucky-” The blond man kept stupidly squirming, like he didn’t have a knife to his neck belonging to a pissed-off trained former POW in a camp-full of other sleeping trained POWs.

 

“Swear all you like pal, but that don’t mean you’re not spinnin’ a yarn, and expecting me ta’ believe ya’.”

 

The man looked physically pained at Bucky’s words, and started squirming harder.

 

Bucky frowned, wondering what the man was doing, and before he could yell out, their positions were suddenly reversed and Bucky was the one with the hand over his mouth and the knife to his throat; though he noticed that the blond man kept the knife from any vital points at his neck.

 

“You can not believe me all you want, Bucky,” The man told him, blue eyes looking at him sadly, Bucky’s struggles to be released completely innafective to the blonds strenghth, “but I’m with you to the end of the line, alright?”

 

Bucky froze, the blond mans words registering in his brain and making him pale because-

Only Stevie and Bucky knew those words, shared that promise. Only Stevie would know to say those words to him.

 

The Blond man- _Stevie_ – noticed Bucky’s expression and frozen body and carefully released his mouth.

 

“… _Stevie_?” Bucky asked, voice soft, and the blond nodded, a relieved smile on his face.

 

“Ya, Buck, that’s what I’ve been tryin’ ta’ tell ya’, Jerk,”

 

“Punk,” Bucky automatically shot back, then raised a hand and placed it on Steve’s – holy shit massive – chest.

 

Steve had changed, God had he changed; when Bucky had left Steve that morning, he was five foot nothing and barely weighed more then a feather. Looking at the man now was looking at a completely different person, the change was so drastic, and Bucky couldn’t blame himself for not recognize Steve after three weeks of torture and drugs.

 

“How-How the hell, Steve?” Bucky hissed, his hands moving to grasp Steve’s, god his biceps in a bruising grip. “What the hell did you do?”

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve’s guilty-but-stubborn look, and tightened his grip further, making Steve wince, but Bucky didn’t notice, too focused on his _fearangerworry_ that Steve’s change brought in him.

 

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky growled, “what the _fuck_ did you do?”

 

“There was this Doctor,” Steve began, and proceeded to tell Bucky all about the chance that Erskine gave him, the meager training he got as a skinny asthmatic before he got all juiced up, and then the goddamn experiment that turned Steve into…this.

 

Steve finished his story, looking at Bucky with nervous eyes, and Bucky-

 

He just stared at Steve with a blank look, his jaw clenched from holding back the frustrated scream that wanted to rip out from his throat.

 

“Steve,” Bucky ground out through gritted teeth, “get the _hell_ off me. Now.” Before he did anything rash.

 

Steve, seeing the absolute fury radiating through Bucky’s eyes, scrambled of the older man’s hips and stood up.  
Slowly getting on his feet, Bucky turned his back to Steve and stiffly walked a few more meters away, his fists clenching and unclenching, resisting the urge to punch the blond in his stupid reckless face.

 

Taking a few deep breaths, the Sniper turned back to face Steve.

 

“What the _Hell_ were you thinking, Rogers?”

 

“Buck-”  


“ _Shut. Up_.”

 

Steve snapped his mouth shut.

 

Bucky looked back at the make-shift camp, at his sleeping men, and hoped they were far enough away that they didn’t wake any of them. If Steve truly was a Captain, he ranked higher then Bucky did; it wouldn’t matter to his men that Steve and Bucky had known each other since they were four and five years old. Captain was a higher rank then Sergeant and you don’t talk to someone of a higher rank like Bucky was about to with Steve.

 

“Why the fuck-”

 

“You were gone, Buck,” Steve whispered, avoiding Bucky’s eyes, “and I couldn’t do anything without you.”

 

And as if that didn’t take the wind out of his sails.

 

Bucky deflated, his anger gone. 

 

“Steve,” Bucky breaths, seeing the desperation on Steve’s face as he stared at, no, through Bucky.

 

“You were gone, Buck, and I had nothing, while you were out getting shot at- I had to help.”

 

“Steve, you could have-”

 

“I don’t even own a red wagon Bucky, pretty sure they took that away for the war too,” Steve grinned wryly.

 

Bucky huffed a laugh, and shook his head, admitting defeat.

 

“You fuckin' punk.”

 

“Jerk,” Steve replied.

 

They didn’t dare share the kiss they wanted too, not with the men all around them, but they did share a hug.

 

“Till the end of the line, pal.”

 

“Till the very end, Buck.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
